Warmth
by Katty3
Summary: Sometimes caring is the hardest thing to express. A Haku and Zabuza story
1. Warmth

Obligatory Author's Note: The proceeding fanfic it told in two separate, but related points-of-view. It is (cross your fingers) one of several future fics, demonstrating my feeble attempt to both portray and illuminate the complex character relationship between Zabuza and Haku as I see it (open to the opinions of readers). As such it contains within spoilers for the Wave Country Arc.  
  
Warmth By Katty  
  
I met Onii-chan today. I was sitting on the bridge and he stopped for me. I was very surprised. No one ever talks to me any more, unless they're using their angry voices. 'Get away from there, ya damn mutt!'  
  
I think they're talking to me, or maybe to the dogs by me, or maybe they don't see a difference anymore. But I know I'm not a dog. Dogs have dog parents. Mama is a person.  
  
Every time someone talks to me I hope it's Mama. I wouldn't even mind if Mama used her angry voice with me. I'd like to see her again. I'm not sure if I can see her again. Ever see her again. It's been so long.  
  
Onii-chan didn't use an angry voice with me. He said I will die not wanted by anyone, but I already knew that. Papa looked at me with eyes that were cold. If Papa couldn't want me, and Mama is...gone.  
  
It's so soft and warm here. Soft like Mama. Warm like...I can't remember warm. But my face is getting wet. Onii-chan's shirt is getting wet. Gomen. I cling a little harder when I start to shake. Gomen...gomen, Onii- chan. I know I'm supposed to be sleeping. Don't kick me out. Don't make me alone!  
  
"Kid."  
  
"...hai."  
  
"Get some sleep."  
  
"...  
  
...hai."  
  
Onii-chan will let me stay. Onii-chan will want me...  
  
...because I belong to him.  
  
Onii-chan is wonderful...  
  
...onii-chan is kind...  
  
"...onii-chan is...so...war...mmm...  
  
...mmm..."  
  
-----***-----  
  
Finally asleep. Breath, deep and even; limbs, limp; body, dead weight on my side; face, relaxed; jaw, lax; even a near unperceivable drop in body temperature. All the tiny signs that others may overlook are bold indications for shinobi. Indications that spell the difference between safety and danger, life and death.  
  
I'm not afraid of this little kid. There is nothing the kid could possibly do to me with that weak half starved body, not even move without me noticing. I need sleep, but something is bothering me. Maybe it wouldn't be too much of a stretch to assume it's got something to do with the tiny heat seeking leech curled against me.  
  
Still so cold, that tiny body so beaten by the snow and ice it can't ever be warm again.  
  
Such a small thing; insignificant really, if you look at it that way. Just an interesting thing I picked up on a bridge. Nothing more momentous then the gaining of something that someday just might prove its worth. It's not important.  
  
But then why and I still awake? Why am I thinking myself in circles? And why the hell is the kid with me in bed?  
  
...  
  
So frail, like the kid wouldn't even last a good stiff breeze. Cheek cool to my touch, like halfway to death, but the steady thrum against my side and the breath on my hand belie that idea. Soft too...regrettably soft.  
  
Such long eyelashes. Those eyes today.  
  
'Onii-chan, you have the same eyes as me.' No, not at all. I know how my eyes look, hard and mean. The kid's eyes...I don't know how to say...like an animal's maybe, innocent and pure, but to survive...even a snowshoe rabbit, given claws, would tear your eyes out.  
  
Cute nose, full lips, the kid'll be a looker that's for sure. Definite plus there, appearance can't be trained in with hard work, and sometimes a pretty face can be a vial weapon.  
  
...  
  
The cool on my side isn't so distracting anymore, comforting if anything.  
  
Morning...think about it in the morning.  
  
Perhaps it will snow again. 


	2. Getting Home

Author's Note: (aka: where I attempt to give readers hints at understanding my thought processes, which I rarely understand myself) A second instillation in my Zabuza/Haku fic (who'd a thunk it). Again with the weird, alternating points of view, and again with feelings of inadequacy on my part. My basic experiment in writing this is to have much of the story lie not in what is said, but what is left unsaid, where the most fascinating components of this relationship lie. I, however, lack the necessary skill to develop this subtext. I would be incredibly interested in where and why readers feel I have failed to attain this goal, and any instances where you may have caught something beyond the words of the text.  
  
Summary: Home has a whole new meaning now.  
  
Getting Home by Katty  
  
Home. The low structure, a practical rectangle building, like a single room erected next to a large garden and a split-wood fence, has always been home to me. Not for any sentimental 'home is where the heart is' reason, but because 'home' can within a single word imply not only the land and surroundings of the building, but also because it becomes clear, simply by virtue of the word, that it is mine. I take pride in all my possessions, my home not being an exception.  
  
When I come to the fence I simply hop right over it, as I have since the day I built it. A gate defeats the purpose of a fence. But kid slips through the cross-beams feet first. Even for such an emaciated body it's a tight fit, and the kid nearly looses...his shirt.  
  
That's the quick, dirty way of answering the gender question, it's always so hard to tell...when they're kids at least.  
  
I walk in the door, quickly taking in everything and comparing it to the mental picture I had taken when I left...nothing's moved an inch. Never can be too careful and when someth...  
  
I tense and nearly grab for a shuriken, until I remember the breathing behind me, would be the kid.  
  
I sigh and consciously relax slightly, reluctant to break the silence, but knowing I have too.  
  
"Alright kid, this is where I live. You will be staying with me, unless I can think of something better to do with you. Understand?"  
  
A pause, then a nod. He stares up at me like he has never seen something so incredible in short, but unsheltered life. I'm understandably reluctant to let go of this impression.  
  
The kid needs to learn to shut his mouth, gaping like a fish out of water...  
  
"Shut that mouth," a click of teeth, "it makes you look slow. You're not slow, are you kid?" A quick shake of the head. His speedy reaction assures me that the first meaning of slow isn't lost on him, but if he can understand what I implied as the meaning...  
  
"I have little patience or time for worthless things. I'm not convinced you're going to be worth it for me. If you prove as useless as you look, I'll leave you on the first bridge I find. And believe me when I say I'll cast you off in worse condition then I found you."  
  
A small, but clear voice cut the silence that had fallen between us.  
  
"I'm not...I'm really not stupid Onii-chan."  
  
...  
  
He looks at me with such eyes, not at all afraid of me.  
  
The kid really is stupid.  
  
But certain things can be taught.  
  
------***------  
  
Onii-chan, I...  
  
This place is very nice. It's far from the other places where people live, just like home is...  
  
I'm not...Onii-chan, I'm not.  
  
That's not home anymore. I think this house is going to be home.  
  
Home will be with Onii-chan, and Onii-chan is so warm.  
  
It took us a long time to get here from the bridge. We always stopped to go to bed when it was night, and it got to be night four times.  
  
See Onii-chan I can count real good.  
  
One time we even stayed in a room with a bed. The other times were always on the ground outdoors, but Onii-chan always let me sleep next to him, because Onii-chan is nice and warm.  
  
"Oi, Kid?"  
  
"Hai."  
  
Onii-chan grabbed a blanket from the bed and threw it in the corner.  
  
Itai...  
  
Onii-chan didn't try to hit me, but a bit of the blanket wiped me in the face as it went by.  
  
"You'll be sleeping over there, kid. I'll get you a mattress for the floor soon enough."  
  
The corner where the blanket was looked cold and dark. Why aren't we sleeping in the bed? I don't understand, Onii-chan.  
  
The room suddenly darkened and Onii-chan started to get on the bed and...  
  
no... No, Onii-chan! Don't go away from me!  
  
If I latch on to his arm, if I keep hugging it close to me... If I keep holding on to Onii-chan's arm he can't go away.  
  
I won't let go. I won't. I'll hold on forever.  
  
"...no no no no no NO! Onii-chan!"  
  
I flew then, I flew across the room just the like the blanket. Onii-chan threw me like he threw the blanket, but I hit the wall before falling in a little heap right beside the blanket.  
  
It hurts. It hurts so much, Onii-chan, hurts when I breathe too hard, and this blanket is cold and scratchy. The wet on my face make it colder. My chest and throat are so tight I have to breathe hard, and it hurts, Onii- chan.  
  
Onii-chan didn't try to hit me. I must have scared him when I grabbed him. He just wanted me away.  
  
But away from Onii-chan is cold.  
  
------***------  
  
What the hell did I bring home with me?  
  
I thought I picked up something useful, something that could help fulfill my goals, something that could be trained as a weapon. But that something, that has yet to prove to be any of those things, is currently keeping me awake.  
  
Hitting the lights before I crawled into bed was a terrible idea, as it redoubled the sobs form the corner. There is nothing positive about the situation I have put myself in, and everything about it that makes me wanna hurt something.  
  
I don't think the kid's actually hurt, just being a crybaby.  
  
I hadn't meant to shrug him off so hard...hit the far wall before crumpling to the floor. I just meant for a little push, but...well...I was angry.  
  
The kid needs to start learning right now there are consequences for making me angry.  
  
He's showing no signs of crying himself to sleep. This isn't getting me anywhere.  
  
"Oi. Kid."  
  
"...hai"  
  
I have to strain my senses to hear the faint reply even in the silent house.  
  
"Get over here."  
  
He gets to his feet slowly and hobbles a bit on the way over. Shit. Must have hurt him more then I though. I had planed to start on some basic training exercises tomorrow...I probably still will, toughen the kid up bit, but...the injuries will slow him down.  
  
The kid quakes before me, but still meets my eyes. Holding in his sobs and trying not to sniff too loudly. Such potential.  
  
I lift the covers a bit. "Here, get in," he hesitates, I sigh in frustration, "I won't hurt you, just get in."  
  
He complies, but in his every move, his every twitch, I sense the inner conflict of both want and fear. The desire for something that becomes a nearly palpable thing and the terror that prevent actualization... He'll learn soon enough the sense of living with that feeling; which never truly goes away.  
  
There's a lot of shifting...for minutes it seems. This was a bad idea, but he's settling down. The kid's latched on to me again, pulling at my shirt, and no doubt rubbing his snotty little kid nose all over it. Definitely a bad idea.  
  
"You can sleep here from now on. It's a lot easier then getting a mattress. Goodnight, kid." That reminds me, "Oi, kid. Do you have a name?"  
  
He sniffs hard, then swallows thickly, "My name is Haku." The sound comes out of his throat nearly impossible muffle, distorted by clogged nasal cavities and muffled by my shirt and chest.  
  
"Haku, eh? Do you have another name Haku?" Not that I expect the young orphan to remember his surname, if he ever knew it. A tiny shake of the head, still buried in my side confirms my expectations. "All right, I'll just call you Haku then."  
  
"Hai, Onii-chan."  
  
I wince just a bit at the overly familiar address. Just too close for comfort. We'll have to fix that.  
  
"My name is Zabuza. You may call me Zabuza-san."  
  
"Hai, Zabuza-san."  
  
"Arigato, Zabuza-san," he cluches in a little harder, "You're so warm."  
  
"Haku..."  
  
"Hai?"  
  
"Shut up and go to sleep." 


	3. Kakurenbo

Kakurenbo  
  
It's very cold. So cold that deep inside me is starting to feel like the outside and things inside me shudder and hurt in a way I know they're not supposed too. My muscles don't really move when I want them too very well anymore.   
  
I want to shiver so badly, but I stop myself somehow by holding everything tight and stiff. Shivering would shake the tall, brown grass and Zabuza-san would find me. That can't happen again.  
  
There's water in my hair and it drips in my eyes. Stings… But I can't rub it away. Don't dare move or he'll find me again.  
  
The grass hides me, but its scratchy, and pokey, and I don't like it one bit, but it hides me. It's the best place to hide, except when there's no wind, because when it's not windy and the grass moves, Zabuza-san comes and…  
  
My shoulder hurts, but that part is warm…warm with the slow, red drip. I shudder. Can't stop it. I don't want Zabuza-san to find me again.  
  
My cloths are so heavy…wet, but they get stiff real quick. It's too cold.  
  
I'll never try hiding in the pond again. I thought I was hid good, way far out in the pond, underwater, breathing with a hollow stick. Zabuza-san just walked out on the pond to where I was, and looked down at me.   
  
I never knew Zabuza-san walked on water.  
  
Zabuza-san looked down at me…looked me right in the eyes. I tried to swim away…really it did…but I was grabbed so fast. Grabbed my hair and lifted me out of the pond. Zabuza-san told me how stupid I was for picking such an awful hiding spot where I couldn't get away and he…  
  
It hurt. It hurt very much.  
  
I can't feel my fingers or toes and they won't move no matter how hard I try to. They don't even feel cold anymore. I think they're freezing, turning white and getting covered with frost like the grass in the morning. At least…that's what it feels like.  
  
I concentrate on the energy inside me, on the…on the…the chakara, like Zabuza-san showed me. I think I can make it make my fingers warm again. Like this…  
  
"Ahh—" I cry out before I can bite my lip.   
  
Itai.   
  
It hurts…   
  
The burning in my fingers. They're on fire!  
  
Zabuza-san it hurts sooo bad.  
  
I stop with the chakara thing right away, but there's still the burning hurt in my fingers. Stop please. I want the hurt to go away.   
  
I don't want my fingers if they have to hurt so bad. Just cut them off. It must hurt less.  
  
Make it stop…  
  
"…Zabuza-san…"  
  
-----***------  
  
Kid's really whimpering now, just a continuous stream of little hurt animal sounds. Advertising with ridiculous clarity to the ears of any shinobi with a brain to fill the space between, position, age, physical condition and numerous other bits of information. Perhaps he's just given up on staying hidden, or maybe he's just forgotten he was supposed to hiding as if his life depended on it.  
  
No, probably not that…hopefully not that. I haven't been watching that brat try to hide for months all to have this nothing just…  
  
Suddenly, a rush of synapses and something clicks in my head, the way he's cradling his fingers, his stiff clothes, the sudden almost instant yelp of pain… I realize now what must have happened, what must have caused this outpouring of pain-whimpers.  
  
Heh… So he's precocious, if none too bright.  
  
I feel myself recalling the lessons I've been giving the brat involuntarily, mind racing through all those tediously boring incidents without my conscious permission.  
  
Some of our more recent encounters have ended with an explanation on some of the very basic, enough for a kid anyway, theories of chakara existence, properties, and production...  
  
I haven't even mentioned channeling chakara.  
  
I smile.  
  
Not a smile of pride or joy or any of those sentimental crap-emotions the world could do without.  
  
Just a feeling of…I picked a keeper.  
  
Jumping down lightly from the low hanging, but well concealed branch, I make my way over to the whimpering boy, reconsidering his training schedule. It now needs major revisions.  
  
I'm not pushing him nearly hard enough.  
  
The grass rustles ever so slightly as I pass through it with every tiny twitch I make, and as I come to the tightly curled figure I pause to absorb this tiny picture of abject misery. The moans of pain are quieter, but low and thrumming, a constant outpouring of hurt, and he shuddering with such an intense violence I'm surprised his body hasn't shaken itself to pieces. I feel my heart drop.  
  
…  
  
It must be from disappointment at his weakness.  
  
Must be.  
  
I take one step further and manage to enter the boy's peripheral vision, as one scrawny arm, fingers tensed and clawed, lashes out, in an unexpected blur of motion. And nearly before I register his movements or his scream of panicked rage I'm reaching out with my right hand stopping his wild swing dead, dangerously grinding the delicate bone of his left wrist in my grip and his tiny hand flops over, limp above my fist.  
  
I'm so caught in the moment of contemplating his hand that, only some sort of strange preserving instinct, makes my lower body jump back out of harms way, as the kid's other arm flies by, before I can catch that wrist as well.  
  
He slumps in my grip, facing away from me, as a hold his wrists high, making his slender, far too fragile shoulders twist uncomfortably and his back bow by his own weight. The kid shudders and makes breathy quiet sobs between deep and gasping breaths, a mixture of exertion, pain and terror that echoes with a sort of obscene clarity in the empty barren winter meadow.  
  
Still so fragile...weak…  
  
I take a moment to examine his limp hands and finger, raised high above the rest of his body. They're burning angry red, in a contrast sharp as fresh blood compared to the rest of his pale skin.  
  
Shit. He cooked 'em good. These are going to take weeks to heal, all the while the little bastard slips backwards what little progress he's made… Shit…  
  
I jerk his arms forward quickly to get his attention, wrenching his shoulders painfully in their sockets and likely aggravating the superficial shoulder wound I gave him earlier for being stupid.  
  
The kid just really needs a good beating when he pulls something stupid.  
  
The brat cries out at the rough treatment and I resist the urge to slap him into silence. I've been resisting a lot lately.  
  
"Haku," I yell sharply, and he immediately ceases his shaking and crying, then after a brief moment of motionlessness arches up and backwards, drop his head until he faces me; eyes and nose wet and drippy. He face is dirty, but streaked where his tears have carved and clean path through the grime. His eyes meet mine, silently, reverently.  
  
I sigh, and gather him up in my arms, "Let's go home."  
  
Please R&R ^^ 


End file.
